ACT IX: "I'm Aging Faster Each Day I'm With You!"

General Asikov sat in his truck on the outskirts of town deep in thought. The search for his old shipmate was proving to be an exercise in frustration. Kuryakin had embarrassed him once before, a long time ago, and he was not about to let it happen again. Besides that, the device he had stolen was the General's key to a promotion out of this region.

Asikov realized his hands were clenched in anger as he thought about his quarry and forced his fingers to relax and open. His driver, sitting nervously beside him, tried not to fidget and kept his hands on the steering wheel.

"This is futile," Asikov stated. "They could be anywhere, but I know that they have to use the train sometime. It's the only way out of here. Driver!"

The young man jerked in surprise. "Yes, sir?"

"Take me to communications. I'm calling in the patrols and re assigning them."

"Yes, sir." He fired up the engine and left the area in a cloud of dust, heading to the communications tent.

********

Trudy stayed in the wagon, out of sight and by Illya's side, for the rest of the afternoon and night. The gypsies were wonderful; they treated her like one of the tribe, making sure she was fed and comfortable. It was the first true restful night she'd had in days.

The gentle noises of people tending to the animals in the early hours of the morning woke her. She heard goats, roosters, horses and pigs happily receiving their rations, and the sing-song voices talking to the beasts and amongst themselves. She pulled a brightly colored window covering aside and saw that most of the canopies were gone, and everyone was in the middle of packing up the camp.

"Well, they certainly don't wear out their welcome," she said softly out loud as she watched the action.

"Their welcome is worn out the moment they arrive," Illya's equally soft voice commented in return. "There is no doubt that they are leaving with more than they arrived, with items obtained both legally and otherwise."

Trudy dropped the curtain, sat up and stretched. "How are you feeling? Oh, wait, you're fine, right? You're always 'fine'."

She felt rather than saw the amused smirk on his face. "Well, actually, I am fine. There's a lot less pain in the arm, right now, anyway." He held up the arm and wiggled his fingers. "The marching drum brigade in my head seems to be taking a break, and your wrap work on my ribs is more uncomfortable than the ribs. "

"That's three out of four, anyway." She put her feet on the floor and leaned across the narrow aisle to check his eyes and forehead. "Your pupils are fine, but you're still a little hot. You need rehydration. And how are your extremities? Feel any tingling?" All she really had to worry about now was the bullet lodged somewhere near his spine and the infection. If he would only stay still!!

His eyes immediately turned darker. Trudy could feel the personal wall come down between them. "I said I'm fine." Illya replied sternly, trying to sit up. "I need to speak to Favia." She looked at him blankly."The leader. Favia. Can you find him?"

"Sure." She knew that any further conversation concerning his health would be pointless, so she helped him to sit and gave him some bread that was left for them as well as a flask of water. "I'll be right back."

When she stepped from the wagon she was amazed at how quickly the camp was being broken down. Everyone had well rehearsed tasks that were completed with flair. The chatter was light and carried a teasing tone that she could pick up even though she didn't speak their language. Letting her instinct guide her, she headed towards a group of men gathered in the outskirts of the camp. Their chatter stopped immediately as she approached them. The man she remembered as the patriarch Favia regarded her with a glow in his eyes and a kind smile as he acknowledged her arrival. The other men fell aside, giving her a clear audience. Using her hands to indicate that he was wanted back at the wagon, he nodded, clapped another man on his shoulder as he spoke some last words, and then followed her.

Illya had managed to swing his legs over the edge of the bed to look somewhat recovered and a bit more respectable. Favia greeted him quietly and sat across from him, then looked expectantly at Trudy.

Illya looked her way. "Ah, he expects you to leave us alone," he said evenly.

"Oh, sure," she said, taken aback. She left the wagon quickly. "There's plenty to look at out here anyway. I'm starting to feel like an Army private," she mumbled.

She watched the packing up process a little longer, and accepted a warm cup of what she figured was tea from an old woman who was missing many teeth. The concoction was both warming and relaxing and by the time she saw Favia leave the wagon with a wave almost an hour later, Trudy was in a much better mood. Even the cool Russian couldn't annoy her now! Confidently, she stepped back inside the wagon.

Illya was standing in the narrow aisle, his back to the wagon door, gazing out the small window in the back end. Trudy immediately noticed that he was flexing the fingers of his good hand as it hung by his side as if it was bothering him. When he turned to face her, he stumbled slightly. She noted all this, but kept it to herself. Illya straightened up when he saw her and began to explain what was going to happen.

"Favia has agreed to take us to a place where we can board an eastbound train. It will take a few days, but the spot he has in mind is our best bet. It's away from the prying eyes of the cities and towns." Illya sank down on the narrow bed. "We will be moving to another wagon, though, one that has special compartments for concealing special items."

"Like us," Trudy finished.

"Yes, like us, if need be. I told him that we were being pursued, which pleased him to no end." Illya leaned over to reach under the bed for the navigation device and nearly fell onto his head.

Trudy was next to him instantly, pushing him back into a sitting position. "I'll get it," she said in a no argument tone.

"I guess I need some more food," Illya said softly. "Favia said for us to stay put. His daughter, Maska, is bringing us some breakfast. We will change wagons just before they move out."

It wasn't long before Maska returned with some more hearty fare. Maska was the young woman who set Illya's arm, and the fact that she was giving Illya a critical once-over with her eyes wasn't lost on Trudy; she could see the concern in the medicine woman's eyes.

Maska noticed Trudy looking at her, and also read the concern in Trudy's eyes. The two nodded silently, acknowledging their worries.

Soon after the meal Trudy heard the clopping sound of horses' feet and the wagon shook. Voices shouted outside, and the excitement grew as the wagons were readied to move. Soon a small crowd gathered outside their wagon, and Illya and Trudy were invited to step into their midst. In the center of the crowd, any spying eyes could be blocked, and this was the way they were escorted to their new wagon.

Maska met them in the new lodgings with lots of quilts and pillows, and a small stash of food. She conversed quietly with Illya, obviously giving instructions. Trudy could tell not so much from her tone, but from the pained expression on Illya's face - it was the same one she got whenever she told him to rest. When Maska was finished, Illya replied in a short sentence that made Maska frown. Trudy was sure it was 'I'm fine!' in what ever dialect they spoke.

The new wagon was packed with boxes and other goods, obviously a storage wagon of some sort. Maska pointed out the loose slats on the floor and how, when removed, they opened a space just big enough for one person. She replaced the boards and left. The wagon was in motion within minutes, and the drivers, and old woman and an old man, pushed the curtain aside for a moment and uttered what Trudy thought was a greeting. Illya returned it politely. Before dropping the curtain again, the woman pointed at Illya and one of the baskets of food, and rattled off what sounded like an order. Then she released the drape and they were alone.

"If anyone else tells me to eat up, I'll …" Illya growled, poking at the indicated basket.

"You'll what? Starve to death? Now's the time to start building up some energy. Looks like we have a little break."

Illya glowered at her. "You're in this plot with them."

"What plot?"

"The one to fatten me up. That's what the old lady up there said, that I needed fattening up."

Trudy giggled. "Well, you do! And what else do we have to do right now?"

Illya shifted as if he was in pain. "First, we'd better make a plan. Obviously, I'm the one going in the hiding space there if the time comes, so you need blend in with the others." He grinned a bit. "Adding some pounds and some years to you will be entertaining, don't you think?"

Trudy saw that his hand was shaking a bit as he reached for a bread roll. "I'm aging faster each day I'm with you!" She quipped as she pulled some pillows over, and they started in on her disguise.

**********

Bratsk left the town on the train. He'd heard enough from the patrols to realize that the train was the only viable way to get anywhere, and that there were several eastbound trains due to pull through this area within the next several days. He figured he could search this train before the next stop, get off at the stop, and then board the next train and search that one. By the time they would be near the coast, he figured he could search all of the four trains going to the area Kuryakin was suspected to be aiming for. He also had a contact at a radar station near the coast that he could telegraph to look for the anomaly his device would create. If Kuryakin used it at all, he could get a good idea where he was.

Bratsk started at the head of the train and began to work his way to back, and no one escaped his scrutiny.

**************

General Asikov also realized he need to widen his search perimeter, and also focused on the trains. His plan was to dispatch patrols to the various stations between here and the coast, and slowly extend additional men in a larger and larger circle from the town. He knew how sneaky Kuryakin was; anyplace along the train tracks was suspect. Asikov himself boarded the first eastbound train he could find, and decided to take it to the coast, where he would make other preparations in case the crafty blond made it that far.

There was nothing like a hunt to get Asikov's spirits up. He knew the prize would eventually be his.

***********

And as far as trains went, Napoleon Solo would be very happy to never see another train schedule again. He had poured over the schedules, routes and any other information he could find. He even knew where the unused tracks were, and the names of all the Russian seaports for nearly 200 miles of coastline, and had everything plotted on a big map taking up most of Stevie Inturi's living room wall. He had to do something. The waiting was killing him. If it hadn't been for Stevie's gracious style and wonderful conversational skills, Solo would be out of his mind.

Stevie could talk on any subject, and they managed to cover quite a few in the time he was there. She knew how difficult it was to wait, and made it her goal to try and make the time pass a little easier. And, she found Napoleon Solo to be quite interesting, so it wasn't really a chore.

ACT X: "Well Aren't You A Man Of Many Talents!"

During the next couple of days Trudy and Illya made sure they were in disguise anytime they left the wagon. Trudy could tell the rough ride in the wagon was wearing the agent down as the shadows under his eyes were darker each morning. She saw him rubbing his fingers and rotating his ankles as if to bring circulation back into them. He didn't say much; most of his time was spent studying the navigational device and transferring his knowledge to paper. Trudy spent most of her time making sure they were fed and pitching in when she could with the driving. The old man was quite cheery and taught her how to handle the team of bays.

If my husband could see me now! She thought, feeling the pull in the reins and the blisters starting on her hands. If the situation weren't so dangerous, she would have been thoroughly enjoying herself.

Long into the third day, Illya stuck his head out into the driver area. Trudy glanced at him, and knew that the face of the old woman sitting with her mirrored her concern.

"There are overhead wires up ahead." The agent noted. "Where do they run from?"

"They are telegraph lines that run alongside the tracks starting at Amursk and stopping at Sovetskaja. It's a sign that we are almost half way to the coast and that we are almost to the spot where you are to be dropped."

"Are there power lines anywhere with the telegraph lines?" Illya inquired.

The old man grinned showing stained and missing teeth. "Only along a short section between the next two towns. Shall I show you?"

Trudy was amazed to see her blond traveling companion actually smile, and was dazzled by it. He needs to do THAT more often! she thought.

The caravan message to stop was sung along the line of drivers, and Trudy thought it was a wonderful thing to hear. The way they communicated in their sing-song voices was musical to the ears, and didn't require knowledge of the language. Illya was collecting his gadget together as he told Trudy what was going on. The break from the wagon would be welcome to both of them.

The old man rolled back and forth as he walked as if he was still riding in the wagon. Illya and Trudy followed him stiffly. The stopped at Favia's wagon to tell him what was going on, and the patriarch, always careful, dispatched some young men as lookouts. Illya insisted they stay behind, and started out towards the lines with Trudy following doggedly. It was a bit of a hike up to the tracks, and when Trudy saw where the wires were, she protested loudly.

"You can't get up there!" she argued, pointing up at the wires.

Illya simply raised an eyebrow and looked inscrutable as he unrolled his pack. Wrapping a large belt around his waist and the pole and stuffing the box into his shirt, he let her rant without comment. When he was ready, he simply started working his way up the pole. The only time Trudy had ever seen this technique was in a National Geographic Magazine article on coconut trees. This was how they scaled the trees! For a moment her mouth hung open in surprise.

"Well, aren't you a man of many talents," she said in exasperation. "Remind me to make sure you're with the next time I'm on a deserted island that has only coconuts trees. And you'd better not have a bullet in you then."

"Gladly," he replied dryly as he began to hack into the lines and connect the device. He didn't stay up there long. In a matter of minutes he was back on the ground, walking a bit more stiffly than before. "We need to get moving. If we're being monitored by Asikov, this won't help Favia and his people." He stuffed everything back in his shirt and turned to go.

As Trudy fell in behind, one of Illya's knees seemed to buckle. If Trudy hadn't been so close, he would have fallen. He immediately straightened up and pulled his arm away. "I'm fine," he growled. "Let's go."

Trudy put her hands up in a surrendering motion. "What ever you say," she replied, but she knew better. Before the personal wall slammed down again, she was sure she saw a flash of surprise in his eyes. She also saw that he was dragging one foot slightly; it would have been unnoticeable to anyone else, but she knew he usually walked like a cat. She stayed close behind all the way to the wagons.

Favia was waiting for them on their return. "The place to hop the train is just ahead. We will camp over there, in the foothills, and Joseph will take you up to the site tomorrow. The next train is due mid morning."

Illya moved a bit more carefully when he entered the wagon, Trudy noticed. Again, she simply stayed close and silent.

**********

"Comrade General! You have a call on the field phone," the soldier said briskly.

Asikov nodded and jumped from the truck. At the communication post he snatched the field transmitter from the soldier. "This is General Asikov," he snapped. He listened, and the scar on his cheek crinkled when his lip curled into a smile. "Excellent. Asikov out." He tossed the phone aside and stepped up to the map pinned on the tent wall. "Send a patrol to this area here," he ordered, stabbing at the map with a gloved finger, "and another over here. Have them search east and west, respectively, along the train tracks until they meet. The suspect should be in that area. I'm on my way."

"Yes, sir!" The Communications Officer barked as he readied to transmit.

Asikov strode back to the truck. "Let's go," he ordered as he pulled out a smaller map. "Here. This is the area we are going to." The driver nodded, and they took off.

*********

Bratsk was really tired of searching trains. He was now on his third one, just finishing up the last car when a young porter slipped him a note. "This just came for you, sir," the boy said, retreating quickly. The uniformed man made the boy nervous, and he didn't wait for a response.

Reading the note quickly, Bratsk did some fast mental calculations. His contact had picked up an odd blip on his screen, and the military engineer was right in the center of the projected area of origination. It was a huge area, but the train tracks were right in the middle; Bratsk knew he was close. It had to be the next train. His smile looked somewhat wolf-like, and he worked his way back to his seat to collect his things. He had to get off at the next station and wait for the next train, which would be about 18 hours behind him. He should be boarding it by mid morning tomorrow, and have the device before noon!

**********

When Napoleon Solo was called by the radar technician, his heart rate rocketed. Illya was still out there! He and Stevie studied the maps as the tech used his slide rule to calculate some figures. The tech's finger drew a pie wedge on the map, using Habarovsk at the base of the lines. "That's how far I can narrow down the area so far," he commented.

Stevie looked closer and frowned. "It looks like he's taking the northern track. The more southern track would be here," her delicate finger pointed to an area outside the wedge.

"We need to move further north," Solo said quietly. "This information halves the coastal area we had plotted out, but it's further north than we anticipated." He looked at the map again. "This river mouth here, between Nelma and Perefyciha. We need to be closer to that area." Trying to think like the wily Russian was risky, but Solo had a feeling and he acted on it quickly.

Stevie frowned. "It would be more advantageous for us to move north to the area of Wakkanai near the north coast of Japan. That would put us much closer to the river mouth. There is a large fishing port near there. My cousins are in that area. We can go there."

Solo smiled and put his hand on her forearm. He had grown very fond of this woman, and admired her way. His normal Lothario urges stayed easily under wraps as his respect for her grew. "Stevie, I don't want to inconvenience your family any more than we already have."

She smiled that dazzling smile of hers. "Helping save a life is not an inconvenience Solo-san. It would be a disgrace to turn you away, and honorable to help. I will make the arrangements while you load up the Empress." She gave him a dainty bow as she left.

Solo watched her move away, admiring the way she seemed to float as she walked, then sprang into action. First, he radioed Waverly of the update. The days of waiting had allowed him to store up a lot of energy, and the work of packing up was welcome. Solo sprang into the job happily.

ACT XI: "You Are A Stubborn Man."

It was growing dark when Illya saw a young man of the tribe run to Favia's campfire, and speak with the leader as he gasped for breath. In the failing light, Illya saw Favia look their direction and lock eyes with him. The old gypsy's eyes shone with the reflected firelight. He didn't need to say anything.

Illya turned quickly and looked for Trudy. She was sitting with some other women, learning how to braid a belt like they wore, while the others prepared dinner. Kuryakin stepped up and took her elbow. She looked up into his eyes and knew it was serious.

"What?" she said softly, getting to her feet.

"It's show time," Illya responded nodding towards the wagon.

"Oh, God!" She said simply as her stomach lurched to her throat and she hurried behind him.

Illya was on his knees removing the floorboards that covered the hiding spot when Trudy got in the wagon. She had been wearing the gypsy clothes, but needed to fill out her disguise with the things they had discussed. Extra padding and some charcoal lines were needed to add age.

"After this adventure I won't need makeup," she mumbled. "I'm aging from fright alone."

Illya was standing in the well of the false bottom. He hesitated, and took a moment to take her arm. "You are doing very well," he said firmly to her. "You'll do fine. Are you all right?"

She took a moment to let out a shaky breath, nod and smile. Her eyes were still full of fear, but he could see she was under control. He squinted at her face. "Here," he said, taking the bit of charcoal. Trudy sat on the floor as he stood in the well and touched up her age lines with a shaky hand. "Now cover up the floor boards with something. Some sacks, or boxes or something after I'm closed in, then go sit around the fire. The bad lighting will only add to the this disguise!"

Trudy nodded nervously, and smiled a weak smile. "Are you going to be all right in there?"

It was his turn to nod. "Yes. Now let's get moving. I hear vehicles." He tucked the device under his arm and lay flat in the meager space. He had to bend his neck and knees slightly sideways to fit. He helped as much as he could to replace the boards, but Trudy finished the job and drug several sacks of onions and a couple of heavy boxes over the loose boards. Just before stepping down from the wagon, she grabbed a couple of onions.

When she saw Asikov at the fire it was all she could do to keep from fleeing. Her nervous shaking actually helped her disguise as an old woman as she shuffled along to the fire and blended in with the rest of the women. They made room and she began chopping the onion along with the other food preparers.

Asikov obviously understood Favia as he spoke, and wasted no time in having his patrol search the wagons as the old man protested. Asikov waved him off to a subordinate, and strolled around the wagons, peeking inside as his troops searched each one. He studied the women at the fire, and came closer.

He was right next to Trudy when Maska stepped next to him and dumped a handful of onions on a very hot iron skillet. The first of the fumes hit him full in the face and his eyes began to water immediately. He swore at the woman as he backed off, rubbing his eyes, and Maska began to apologize profusely. She offered him a towel, which he threw back at her. Then she offered him a small bottle of what Trudy thought was liquor, and he took it with a disgusted snort. He handed the bottle to his subordinate, and walked back to the wagons. Maska turned back to the fire with her head bowed and a small grin, looked at Trudy and winked. Trudy had to duck her head to hide her laugh, and was glad of the darkness.

After almost an hour, the men finished with the wagons. Trudy had held her breath when Illya's wagon was searched, and let it out slowly as the patrol moved on. Asikov lectured Favia sharply, and signaled his men to move on.

As they got in the trucks, Joseph came trotting over to Trudy and spoke in heavily accented English. "The General says that there are two other gypsy tribes in the area he needs to search. We are lucky this route is rather busy this time of year."

"I need to get Illya out." Joseph stopped her as she started towards the wagon.

"Not yet," he said quietly. "Our watchers will let us know when they are gone completely."

The next hour seemed to crawl by Trudy sat with the other women and pretended to eat and clean up after the patrol. All she wanted to do was lunge to the wagon and get him out of the cramped space, but she was able to control herself until word came in from the watchers that the patrols were, indeed, gone. She didn't need to know their language to figure out when it was clear; Maska just beat her to the wagon steps.

The women shoved everything aside and plucked up the boards, then reached down for Illya. He wasn't moving too well. He had to sit for several minutes after he finally got his neck straightened, massaging his arms. His legs seemed shaky as he struggled to his feet. Trudy noticed Maska's eyes looking him over with concern, and she tried to get a look at where the bullet wound was, but the stubborn Russian pushed her off. He snapped something at her that Trudy knew was "I'm fine!" in the gypsy language. She'd heard that tone thrown in her direction many times. Maska simply nodded and moved to clean up the wagon.

"You are a stubborn man," she said lowly.

"So I've been told," he replied darkly

Illya was unresponsive and aloof after the searching incident. Trudy decided to try and sleep after the evening meal was finished, noting that Kuryakin didn't eat much. She wanted to check his temperature, but knew she'd better keep away. Soon they were both asleep in the wagon, a bare minimum of words spoken since the patrol left.

The next morning, Joseph wakened them at the crack of dawn with some hard rolls, cheese and tea. "We must go now," he said softly, leading them to a pair of horses. Favia was waiting to say his farewells, as was Maska, who slipped a bundle of food into her arms, along with a small jar of ointment. No words were needed; Trudy knew who the ointment was for. Favia kissed both of them on both cheeks, and Joseph helped Trudy up on the massive draft horse, bareback, behind Illya. Joseph started off briskly towards the foothills.

As they moved away from the caravan Trudy spotted the young men acting as sentries, one by one. Each stood in plain site to acknowledge their departure.

"You must tell me the story of how you helped these people," she said, her arms around Illya's waist. "They certainly have a long memory."

She could see his smirk in her mind's eye.

"It's a long story, and I don't like to talk that much," he replied.

"No kidding," she answered with a laugh. "I guess you'll just remain the mystery man." She lay her head on his back, and could feel the lump of cloth over the bullet wound and how hot the back of his neck felt. She also felt him shift his shoulders uncomfortably and knew that he realized exactly what she was doing, but could do nothing about it. Gotcha cornered now, Mr. Kuryakin, she thought smugly.

The horses trotted along smoothly up a valley of the foothills. Soon, the long, gradual slope had them huffing and nodding their heads mightily to make the grade. Eventually they came to a section of the foothills where the train tracks took a wide, sweeping turn uphill. Joseph had them stop in a stand of trees, hidden from view.

"The train slows greatly up this hill and is easily hopped. Not many hop the eastbound train here because there is a station just a few miles away. They usually hop it beyond the station, so you should be fairly safe from search until then. Conceal yourselves well, and you can even ride through the station without a problem. It is a passenger train, with a few cars designated for cargo. We will get you in a cargo car." Joseph's explanation was part English, part Russian, but Trudy was able to understand it all.

"Do people do this often? Hop trains like this?" She asked.

Joseph nodded. "Citizens hop on for short rides to the next town quite often. Not usually for the long haul." Illya had to interpret the last part for her, and she nodded. "We are just in time. Feel the shaking?" Trudy lay her hand flat on the ground like Joseph, and could feel the rumbling. Joseph gathered up the reins. "I am happy to know you," he said with a sharp bow and a grin just as the train could be seen slowly laboring into sight. "I will stay to make sure you are safe."

Trudy and Illya thanked him, gathered their bundles of food along with the other things, and crept up as close as they could to the tracks. The train lumbered up the sweeping turn and past them, and they waited until the leading engines were out of sight.

"There!" Joseph yelled. "Here comes a cargo car! Good luck!"

Illya could see the windows of an approaching car blocked by boxes and other cargo. He pulled on Trudy's arm wordlessly, and they ran out to the tracks and alongside the slow moving car. When the doorway pulled next to them, he pushed Trudy on. She grabbed the step rail and climbed on, then turned to help Kuryakin. He had grabbed the rail right behind her with his good hand, but his grip was slipping. She clamped onto his wrist with both hands and fell back up the stairs, dragging him up. He collapsed on top of her, then rolled aside, gritting his teeth with a hiss. Trudy was already sitting up when she noticed her companion was having difficulty pushing himself to a sit. When he finally was seated next to her, she noticed him rubbing his hands wordlessly, his face a mask.

He caught her look and immediately struggled to his feet. "Let's get inside," he said gruffly.

"You're losing strength in your hands, aren't you?" Trudy accused as they wormed their way into the car. "And don't tell me you're fine. You're not. Are you experiencing numbness in your hands and feet?"

"I'm fine," he snapped as he pushed aside some feed sacks.

"Are you?" she said, a bit louder. "I need to know!" She grabbed his upper arm and made him face her. "Well? Are you?"

The personal wall around him could almost be felt. They locked eyes; hers dark and smoldering, his guarded, frigid blue. They stood that way, breathing heavily, for almost a full minute.

"And what difference would it make if that were so," he finally said quietly, "here and now?"

Trudy blinked. "Well. None, I guess. But I'd like to be prepared if you suddenly are a quadriplegic." She couldn't be sure, but she thought she saw a flicker in his eyes when she said that.

"I could be shot and killed in the next minute, too, Mrs. Kidd. There's nothing you can prepare for, and you know it. Our only focus right now is to get to the coast, and I will get us there barring any other unfortunate events." He turned and continued to make a hiding spot for themselves and their bundles. "Until then, my health is not an issue. Subject closed. Let's stop attacking this dead horse." He pushed aside a bundle of blankets, and looked at her again. His eyes this time were carefully neutral.

She felt her anger drain away when she realized how useless this questioning was, and heaved a big sigh. "That's 'beating a dead horse.' Well, then, I'd say it's story time, then." She plopped down in the little cavern he'd made in the cargo, pleased at his pause and guarded look in her direction. "Tell me about the gypsies and you, Mr. Kuryakin. We have plenty of time now!"

ACT XII: "Now What?" 

Comrade Bratsk moved easily in the crowd at the station. His uniform, although not a high ranking one, commanded enough respect for the crowd to give way to him and offer no resistance to his train hopping. He waited on the platform for the next one, bouncing slightly on his heels. Something inside told him this was the one; his very own device had told him so. He patted the detailed manual tucked inside his shirt. When he had the device in hand, he could go directly to Thrush with everything and leave this demeaning assignment. He hadn't seen Asikov in days, but his patrols had been evident everywhere, which had worked for him. The public assumed he was part of them and kept silent. The patrols had been searching the crowds at the platforms, but not the trains.

He heard the train whistle in the distance and moved to the front of the platform. He'd searched three trains so far, and now had a system, confident that every square inch would be covered.

********

The train had come down the other side of the foothills and was traveling along at a nice clip. After a cursory search, they had settled into the car to wait. Illya had reluctantly agreed to tell Trudy some of his history with the gypsies. He hoped it would be enough stop her from prying into his past; she hoped to figure out what made this man tick.

His story was short and vague, as she expected. Apparently Illya had helped the clans navigate around the military squads that, at one time, had been assigned to 'clear out' the gypsies from certain parts of the country. The exact meaning of 'clear out' wasn't defined, but Trudy figured it was not a pretty procedure if they were that indebted to this mysterious man. Curious, she peppered him with questions.

"How did you help them get around?"

"I didn't. As you saw, they get around quite well on their own."

"No, I mean, did you offer information? Services? Maps? Guides? What?"

"Yes."

"You physically helped them? You acted as a guide?"

Illya began to squirm under the questioning. "Sometimes. Don't you have something else to do? Interrogate the passengers, perhaps?"

"But this in interesting! Were you armed? Did you ever have to fight? Were you ever caught?"

"Yes, yes and almost. I don't recall the details. It was long ago."

Trudy laughed shortly. "I think you remember more than you want to. How long ago was this? How long did you do this?"

"It was when I was young and a lot more idealistic, and I did it until I was not in a position to help them anymore." The Russian had settled back into their little cavern, unconsciously rubbing his fingers and hands, his mind wandering. He saw Trudy looking at his hands, and immediately stopped. "Joseph said the next station was fairly close. I think the train is slowing."

Trudy agreed and they began to conceal themselves better. We will return to this subject someday, she thought as the train whistle shrilled, announcing its arrival at the station.

The train slowed and bumped to a stop. They could hear the shouting and general talk of the people outside as well as the milling of the crowds as they moved off and on the train. Some things were taken from their car. Illya had guessed that the things to be removed would be near the doors and the items going all the way to the coast were in the middle. He had guessed correctly, and after what seemed like forever in the cramped space, the train moved again.

Illya crawled out first and inspected the car. "It's clear. The next stop won't be for many hours, so I think we can move around a bit. There should be other food and water to buy in the other cars if you want to stretch your legs.

Trudy touched her face. "No disguise?"

The corner of Illya's mouth turned up in a small grin. "Not if we are careful. Head scarves will do if we keep our heads down. We can find appropriate clothes around here. These things are a bit too bright for the regular crowd.

They found bundles of clothes packed for shipping and sales, and selected a few items to cover up. "I feel like I'm shoplifting," Trudy said as she tied a scarf over her head."

"We can return them before we leave. Or leave an IOU," he replied in a dry tone, not missing a beat as he changed. Trudy laughed when she finally realized he had told a joke.

Illya stashed their things in the small opening, hesitated, then picked up the grenade and stuffed it in a pocket.

"Blowing something up?" she asked.

"I always like to be prepared," he said lightly.

Trudy shook her head. "I am glad that I don't have to think the way you do, Mr. Kuryakin."

"If you did, you wouldn't be here in the first place," he instantly replied as he moved off.

Stumped, Trudy's mouth fell open, and then she closed it with a nod. "You are probably right," she mumbled. "Does your partner think like you?" she asked conversationally.

"No. And that delights him to no end."

Trudy fell in behind the stoic Russian. "I like him already," she quipped. "And can’t wait to meet him."

Following the slim Russian was not easy. He seemed to blend in with the crowd immediately, and moved easily, his eyes not missing a thing. Trudy likened him to a cat, but also noticed that he still tended to drag one leg a bit; he wasn’t moving as easily as the 0il-on-water figure she remembered from days ago. That’s not saying he wasn’t getting along. He weaved expertly in the packed car and took advantage of every opening with hardly a pause between cars.

The amount of people packed in the car was amazing. All the seats were full, and there were families camped out in the aisles and in the spaces between the cars. Three cars up Trudy finally saw him approach a small gathering of young men clustered in the small space between the last row of seats and the door way. By the time she worked her way up to him, she saw their hands flash in some sort of exchange, and Illya came away with something wrapped in cloth and a flask. He nodded, shook hands with one of them and turned to face Trudy.

"Some local fare you may enjoy. It’s strong, but filling and flavorful."

She took the wrapped food from him. "Strong?" She sniffed it. "It smells like some sort of bread."

He smiled at her, and it took her breath away. "I wasn’t talking about the food. I was talking about this." He held up the flask and popped the end open. The alcoholic fragrance hit her nose a foot away and brought tears to her eyes. "Vodka from the fields."

"Good lord, you aren’t going to drink that are you? That smells like paint thinner! I come from West Virginia and the White Lightning there smells better than that!"

As she spoke, Illya’s glance drifted over her shoulder and his smile faded. There were small windows in the doors at the ends of the cars, and he could see through the two windows into the next car. A man in a military uniform was working his way in their direction.

Trudy saw his expression harden and glanced back. "It’s the man from the camp and the airfield," she whispered.

"Don’t look. Come." He grabbed her arm and steered her back the way they came, trying not to look like they were hurrying. "Keep your head down."

With him guiding her by the arm they managed to ooze their way back to their enclave without garnering unwanted attention.

"Now what?" she said stripping off the extra clothes so she could move more easily. Illya was watching the doorway and working with quick, efficient moves. He took her arm and directed her to their little cave. "Hide? We’re gonna hide? Is that your best plan?"

"No. You’re going to hide." He had her sit as he arranged bundles around her with his good hand. Trudy saw the grenade hooked on the pocket of his loose shirt, and the stiff way he worked.

"You took off the wraps around your ribs, didn’t you? When did you do that? You could puncture a lung!’

He continued to work as he replied. "No, I won’t because the ribs were only cracked and I took the wraps off days ago. Now be quiet."

"You’re going to kill him, aren’t you?" she said softly.

His eyes flashed on her for several seconds, but he didn’t slow down. Before he placed the last few bundles in place he replied. "I said I would get us to the coast, and I will." Then he blocked her view with a bale of brightly colored cloth.

It seemed liked eternity being huddled in the darkness. The gentle rocking of the train made her head bump a box by her ear in a rhythmic motion. She brought her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs, and buried her head in her knees. The clanking of the rails kept time with her heart as she waited.

*********

Bratsk made his way slowly through each car, making sure to look at each and every face, and to check every spot that looked big enough to hold a man. He had no idea if the woman was still with him, but she didn’t matter. It was the U.N.C.L.E. agent he wanted. No one in this car looked anything like him, and he sighed.

When he reached the end of the car he turned back and gave the crowd one last look. Satisfied, he stepped out the door and into the space where the cars were connected. The door to the other car bounced back and forth out of rhythm with where he stood. His first look in the next car showed him it was full of cargo. He knew there were a lot of places to hide, and steeled himself to be careful.

He stepped over the space between the cars and entered the cargo car. Just inside the door he stopped for a moment and noticed that stacks were higher in the center. He checked the area around him first, methodically moving right to left. When he reached the center he put a hand on a stack of brightly colored baled cloth and pushed. It gave more than it should, and he was instantly suspicious.

Bratsk drew his gun and tugged on one of the bales. A motion from the top of the pile, just within his peripheral vision, caught his attention and he jumped back, firing wildly. He was hit full in the chest and bowled over into a stack of boxes, which collapsed down on him and his assailant. He swung wildly, the gun lost, but the boxes interfered.

Arms were flying as they rolled over into the narrow aisle. Bratsk's swinging fists managed few flesh-to-flesh connections. It was all over when he felt a firm bar shaped object lock over is throat from behind. Bratsk managed two well-connected jabs to the torso with his elbows and heard a satisfying exclamation of pain, but the bar tightened over his windpipe anyway, and was soon underscored with the cold, sharp edge of a blade just under his Adam's apple.

Bratsk froze. As he wheezed in air he felt a dribble of blood crawl down his neck and chest. Then he heard a chilling voice in his ear.

"I should slice you open right now but then I'd have a bigger mess to clean up." Although the breath was warm on his neck, it felt like ice trickled down his spine.

Through his fear Bratsk realized that the bar across his throat was actually this man's arm, and recalled that Kuryakin had broken his arm in the plane crash. "You won't get out of Russia," Bratsk growled. "Thrush knows you're here and what you have."

"The same goes for you," Kuryakin replied softly as he dug the blade in a bit deeper. "If I get rid of you and the device, no one wins."

A commotion amongst the baggage gave way to a woman's voice. "Don't kill him, Illya. Please," the voice pleaded. "I have this."

Bratsk heard a click then felt a sharp prick in his bicep. Soon, his world went dark.

When the body sagged in Illya's arms, he rolled away to the side and lay on his back gasping both in pain and for breath. He clenched his teeth, forcing control to his breathing. Trudy knelt beside him.

"Are you hurt?" she asked firmly. "I'm fine!" they both said together. She shook her head in frustration. "What about him?" She rolled the body over and clicked her tongue when she saw the fine slice in his neck. She applied a cloth to it to stop the bleeding. "Thank you for not killing him," she said softly.

Illya sat up slowly and wiped the knife blade on Bratsk's chest, then frowned. He felt the shirt front, then reached in and pulled out the manual and grinned slightly.

"I think Solo’s luck is with us. This is the manual I had to leave behind."

"Is that the manual to that device?"

Illya nodded and stuffed it in his shirt. He waved off Trudy when she tried to check his ribs. It felt like thousand needles poking him when he breathed, and he moved slowly and stiffly. He removed a knife and extra ammo from the sleeping figure, and recovered the gun. "We have to hide him, and keep him quiet. You only have one more morphine dose, don’t you?" She nodded, and he thought for a minute. "OK, in about 18 hours we’re getting off this train. That’s when we’ll be crossing a river. We’ll take the river to the coast, and leave him on the train. With luck, he won’t be found until this car’s unloaded 20 or so hours later."

"The morphine won’t last that long," she said quietly.

"I know. "

They secured Bratsk's hands and feet, and gagged him, then stuffed him in their little cubbyhole.

"What about this Thrush group?" Trudy finally asked when Bratsk was stowed away.

"They want the device, not me." Illya said as he sat and leaned back on some boxes.

She looked at him skeptically. "Really!" Illya tried to look innocent, but she wasn't falling for that. "The Army is full of scammers, Mr. Kuryakin, and I can spot one a mile away. Thrush wouldn't mind having you along with the device, would they?"

Illya rubbed his fingers for a second, chastised. "They would prefer what was in my head, I think." He looked up at her through his shaggy bangs. "No matter. I plan on being away from here without any more confrontations."

"What about that General guy? His patrols are still out and about."

"Asikov still doesn't know where to look and I intend to keep it that way and leave no clues." He was looking at Bratsk when he spoke. The idea of an execution sickened him, but he knew it was a possibility.

As if she could read his thoughts, a chill coursed down Trudy's spine.

********

Napoleon Solo finally felt like he was close. The move to the northern edge of Japan felt right, and he simply knew that his partner would be back very soon. The physical part of the move also helped to cut the edge off his restlessness.

Stevie's relatives were just as delightful as Stevie. They didn't speak as much English, but they weren't shy about trying to communicate. Between the family meals and the off shore patrols disguised as fishing ventures, he was busy and enjoying himself more than he felt he should be.

His thoughts, though, always fell to his partner. How was he faring? It had been nearly two weeks since the jet had gone down. The other passengers and crew had been returned, and the news releases never mentioned the two Americans that Solo knew were unaccounted for. That made him wonder, too; the flight crew had told U.N.C.L.E. that the woman had left with Kuryakin.

Who was Gertrude Anna Kidd? Solo had a report about her in his hand and had studied it closely. He recalled many nurses from his Korea days and admired them for more than their physical attributes. The thought of a woman tagging along with his stoic partner was somewhat amusing and he wondered how it was going and why she left with him in the first place.

*********

General Asikov was running out of patience. The longer his patrols came up empty, the further away he knew Kuryakin was. That man had an irritating way of completing whatever task he put to himself.

Asikov was well ahead of his patrols, almost to the coast, trying to predict Kuryakin's movements. It was looking like he would make it to the coast after all, and Asikov had to be ready.

Decision made, he barked at the driver to take him to the communications tent where he arranged for an attack submarine to start for the nearest seaport, and a helicopter to take him there when it arrived.

If Kuryakin had to be stopped in Russian waters, he would be ready.